


Disillusion

by naboru



Category: Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: Action, Gen, Gen Fic, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-15 20:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naboru/pseuds/naboru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blast Off has a bad day and becomes the puppet of the universe for a while.</p><p>G1!Blast Off, SG!Blades, SG!Brawl, SG!Vortex, SG!Onslaught, SG!Swindle, SG!Megatron, SG!Starscream // gen, some action</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Title:** Disillusion - Part I  
 **Warnings:** gen, some action  
 **Continuity:** Shattered Glass (Disillusion AU)  
 **Characters:** G1!Blast Off, SG!Blades, SG!Brawl  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Disclaimer:** Sadly, nothing is mine.  
 **Summary:** Blast Off has a bad day and becomes the puppet of the universe for a while.  
 **Beta:** [Ultharkitty](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty)

 **Note:** I finally did it. I finished this thing. Yay. I hope you have as much fun with this AU as I have writing for it. ;D 

**Disillusion – Part I**

If there was one thing Blast Off had learnt during his time exploring space, it was that surprises were always bad. He sure had experienced quite a few weird looking portals in the past, but fortunately he’d always been able to avoid them.

At this particular moment, however, he didn’t have luck. There was no chance of evading the portal which opened only a few astroseconds ago in front of him. Blast Off flew at over 450,000 mph, which was a new record for this awful Earth alt-mode, and he had only time for one thought before the odd whirling colours swapped around him: _Oh slag!_

\---

Blast Off couldn’t tell how long his journey through the portal lasted. It could have been a klik or a whole vorn. It felt as though there was no real time, and this was actually something he knew from the past. But this was another, different story and Blast Off didn’t have time to remember properly when he suddenly reached the tunnel’s end and was spit out into a sky. It was a sky above a planet which looked weirdly like Cybertron, but again he couldn’t wonder about it. The change from weightlessness to the whatever-it-was of the portal to the now present gravity messed with his equilibrium chip and other sensors.

It took Blast Off a mere of three astroseconds to notice that he was flying upside down, and while he was slower, he still moved at a speed not very appropriate for an atmosphere. His frame began to shudder, followed by a sharp pain in his wings. It was nothing like re-entry; re-entry usually slowed him down, but now he already had re-entered the atmosphere, and Blast Off wasn’t as agile as a plane flying risky manoeuvre which might take away a bit of the velocity. Swindle once had called his alt-mode a flying brick, and Blast Off had been really angry about that. As much as he hated to admit it, but right now, he truly felt like a rock in the sky. 

A rock which began to sink. Due to the stress in his frame, more systems decided to glitch, his thrusters along with them. Which, all considered, wasn’t that bad because he lost speed. What _was_ bad, was that Blast Off’s sensor net decided to auto-change its setting to re-entry and suddenly everything got number. It was nice that the ache ebbed away, but the setting was only for the first few layers of atmosphere when the heat was too intense and no navigation was needed. It also made navigating almost impossible, and he could hardly feel his wings.

Blast Off guessed that he had circumnavigated the planet at least once by now as the ground came nearer. And not just the ground. On it, there was laser fire and explosions. A battlefield, Blast Off thought sarcastically, he hadn’t seen that in a while.

Unable to control his fall, Blast Off was in danger of crashing right in the middle of the battle. He decided that it was better to do that in root-mode than as a giant shuttle which also would be a big nice target.

Waiting another few astroseconds until it seemed to be the right moment, Blast Off transformed, and at a speed still too fast, he tried to land on his feet.

He didn’t succeed. Thanks to his changed sensor net setting, he didn’t feel much when he crashed, rolled and slid over the rough ground. His equilibrium was totally fragged, and when he finally came to a halt, he just lay there.

That was, he wanted to keep lying if it wasn’t for _someone else_ groaning in pain and annoyance.

“You slagger!”

Blast Off’s optics snapped online - he hadn’t even realised he’d shut them down - and saw another mech lying a few mechanometres away.

A black-blue mech Blast Off had never seen before - what all together meant nothing, really; especially with this mech being an Autobot as his insignia told him. He was a rotary build, probably a Cybertronian alt-mode.

Blast Off was faster on his feet than he had expected. With his equilibrium chip still not in the mood for full cooperation, however, he stumbled a few steps back.

The other mech stayed on the ground, shivering and groaning, trying to get up as well.

“No one crashes into me, you slaggin’ glitch! I’m gonna rip out your ember and keep your head as a trophy!”

Blast Off didn’t listen to the words, he still was quite busy keeping on his feet. It didn’t help that his HUD was suddenly flooded by warnings, and the bit visual input he got told him that the other mech was about to succeed in standing up.

His engine revved, and Blast Off activated his cannons and fired. He felt the energy draining off his system when he shot, and for an astrosecond he thought he’d go unconscious.

There was a pained scream which told him that he’d hit the mech, and when his optics rebooted, he saw the other glaring at him - or at something behind him - for a moment, before standing up slowly, transforming and flying swaying away.

Surprisingly able to stay on his feet, Blast Off’s shoulders slumped in relief, and he huffed. His vents worked fast, and the tact of his engine sounded everything but healthy; his thoughts were clouded by dizziness and fatigue.

The battle raged over Blast Off’s head, and if there was one thing which was still clear in his mind, then it was the need to escape this area.

“Blast Off?” A voice interrupted his train of thought. A familiar voice, which sounded quite odd when it was used in such a calm and collected tone.

Blast Off turned around, almost tripping in his movement, and looked up. His optics flickered, and his own vocaliser sounded stressed.

“Brawl…?” Blast Off didn’t care that he must appear equally as stupid as the tank when he asked that, because right now, there was no reason _not_ to ask.

The tank who stared at him with worried optics was pale grey and black. He had Brawl’s Cybertronian alt-mode and, the most confusing fact, he had the thick tank’s voice.

“You’re hurt,” was the concerned reply, which confused Blast Off even more.

Then his HUD flickered again, and a warning showed up: _Energy level: dangerous. Stasis lock imminent._

Blast Off looked down at him and for the first time he noticed the gaping hole on his side. The plating was entirely ripped off, cables and circuitry stood out, and the flowing energon covered his whole leg.

 _That_ really wasn’t good. With his sensor net still at the re-entry setting, Blast Off didn’t feel the pain, and this was something at least…

He glanced back up at the weird Brawl, and it was probably the energon loss that the tank looked and sounded so strange.

Before Blast Off could say anything more, the visual input was cut and his HUD became blue.

There was another warning which told him that he was going to go into stasis lock, and again he had time left for one thought: _Oh frag…_


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:** gen, some sort of fluff  
>  **Characters:** Vortex, Brawl, Onslaught, Swindle, G1!Blast Off  
>  **Summary:** In which Blast Off meets people he _should_ know.
> 
>  **Beta:** [Ultharkitty](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty)

Blast Off woke up to a world of pain. His circuitry was sore, his processor strained, and there was a pounding pressure on his side.

He remembered slowly; the portal, the crash on a planet that looked like Cybertron and a mech who seemed to be Brawl, only he wasn’t. A pained groan left Blast Off’s vocaliser, and he wanted to reach for his temple, to rub over it trying to soothe the processor ache.

He couldn’t raise his hand.

Surprised and confused, he onlined his optics, only to regret it an astrosecond later. Everything hurt, and so did his CPU as it tried to process the new optical input. It took him several more astroseconds to make sense of the things he perceived, which were his wrist chained to the berth.

Blast Off’s optical sensors flickered in confusion.

His other hand was restrained, too, and so were his legs. The only reassuring thing he noticed was the damage on his side which was mostly sealed, but his cannons were disabled.

What the pit was happening here?

Blast Off tugged on the chains, but it only increased the pain, and so he quickly stopped . He wasn’t panicking, but cautious, looking around in the room for any clues.

The ceiling was as bleak as the walls, a grey metal, and not overall clean. There were four lights above him the brightness of which burnt in his optics. And, most importantly, he was alone.

Time clocked by. Kliks passed, then breems, and Blast Off began to pull on the chains again. And it didn’t take long after he started this for the door to open.

Blast Off couldn’t see it, but he heard the creaking sound of rusty hinges and the thud noise of metal feet. He raised himself as much as possible, only to see Vortex.

Well… sort of.

Vortex’ battle mask was slid aside, the visor weirdly blue, and the boring grey frame was turned into an even more boring white one. Blast Off guessed it was because of the bright light. And he also could guess that Vortex was the reason he was chained to a berth.

Blast Off’s engine revved to a growl, and the ache along his body increased. He suppressed a hiss, then spat, “Let me go, you imbecile. I swear if-“ Another voice interrupted him.

“Vortex…”

It was Brawl’s. Again so unfamiliar in its calm. The tank showed up next to the ‘copter who walked further into the room. He grew closer to Blast Off, and now the shuttle could see him actually… smiling? 

“I just wanted to see him…” the ‘copter said, acting coyly.

Blast Off didn’t know what it was on his face, but it was not his usual mischievous grin.

“What is going on here?” the shuttle demanded to know, and tugged on the chains again, but to no avail. Brawl and Vortex didn’t answer, and only exchanged worried looks.

“What are you two doing here?” someone else said. The newcomer entered the room, and Blast Off almost relaxed. That was until he saw the other mech. A red and grey frame, and this all made less sense by the second.

 _Onslaught?_ Blast Off thought, but kept quiet. He had the feeling that saying anything wouldn’t have any effect at all. What the frag had happened to his team mates? Blast Off vented air heavily, and tried to get his thoughts together. The portal, maybe it sent him into the future? But why should they get a repaint? Why should they restrain him, and why did they all have their Cybertronian alt-modes again?

Blast Off wanted his old-frame back, too.

The others had to have noticed his agitation as he shifted in the limited place, and the Onslaught-resembling mech stepped closer, holding something in his hand which Blast Off couldn’t recognise. It looked like a kind of gun.

“Everything will be explained to you. We will patch you up. You will live, but we have to get you to the Constructicons later. And to Megatron.”

Blast Off couldn’t reply. The red mech put the gun-like instrument against his helm, and activated it with a click. The shuttle didn’t even have time to try to move his head away, less alone articulate a grumpy response. From his head, a weird current spread down his spine and into his limbs. They became weak and tingly before they eventually went numb and the numbness crept over his whole frame.

His vocaliser spit a curse which was drowned in static and his optics shut down.

“Now, rest,” Onslaught’s voice said, but it wasn’t the last thing that Blast Off heard.

A huff followed, and another familiar voice muttered, irritation in the tone as clear as the thought that it belonged to a mech Blast Off knew.

“We should kill him.”

 _…Swindle?_ was the last thing Blast Off could think, before he passed out again.

\---

When Blast Off woke up the next time, the pain wasn’t as intense as before. His body was still aching enough to cause him to groan as a shudder of unpleasant stinging sensations ran down his frame.

He felt drained, and isolated. A strange feeling which he used to like, but the gestalt coding had changed that.

There were still his team mates’ presences, but they were different, unfamiliar, just like their appearance had been.

Blast Off activated his optics. It didn’t hurt this time, but the images he perceived weren’t much more encouraging than the last time he’d looked around.

Instead of being chained to a berth, he merely lay on one. The room was dark, except for one light, and energon bars glowing in bright pink on the door.

The shuttle vented air once, then offlined his optics. Well, at least he wasn’t tied down any more, right? He thought sarcastically, but couldn’t truly see the positive side.

The pain to his side had become a throbbing ache and was bearable. It was just annoying that something like this happened in the first place. If this was real, which Blast Off began to doubt.

Maybe he'd been put back in the Detention Center, and someone was tinkering with his memory files. It wouldn’t be the first time. But it also wasn’t the first time he found himself in an absurd situation and tried to explain it by being back in the box; only to find out that he wasn’t. And this fact was always both, relieving, and disconcerting.

Blast Off didn’t like situations he couldn’t explain. Especially not since he’d already seen so many things, and should easily come up with an explanation.

He mused on this for some time. It wasn’t as though he could do much right then anyway, and exploring the room seemed rather unnecessary. It was grey, and boring, and except for a berth and a chair, nothing was in it.

Blast Off was low on energy, and had almost been back in recharge if not for a sound causing him to tense.

The purple optics behind the visor were activated once more when Blast Off sat up slowly.

The buzz of energon bars was gone for the time the white Vortex stepped in, then they were activated again.

“Hey,” the mech said, battle mask hiding the face, and it was weirdly reassuring that this was the same.

“I brought you something to refuel.” It was a mere statement, no antagonism, no sarcastic remark. The ‘copter’s voice was calm, almost uncertain, as were his movements when he placed the cube in front of the berth on the floor.

“Where am I?” Blast Off asked, watching the other turn the chair and sit down a bit away from him. He crossed his over the chair’s back, and rested his chin on them; like Vortex did so often.

“It’s the brig.” The ‘copter shrugged. “I’m sorry. The others said it’d be safer, you know. I mean we don’t know you yet. Or know what you’ve done.”

The shuttle only stared. He hadn’t done anything, but there was no use in mentioning that.

“Who are you?” Blast Off replied instead

The white battle mask moved, but no sound emerged. Rotor blades twitched once, and the ‘copter scratched the back of his helm. After a moment, he shrugged. “Yeah, that. Uh… that’s probably a bit awkward.”

“It can’t be more awkward than sitting in a dark, dirty room with someone who won’t say his designation. Who are you?”

The ‘copter shifted, and Blast Off had the suspicion that his first idea of this being Vortex was right. Only, there was something wrong with him. Maybe Megatron had eventually reprogrammed them?

This thought made Blast Off shudder.

“What do you know about parallel universes and dimensions?” the 'copter asked.

A frown built on Blast Off’s face plates. “There are theories about that, but none of them have been proven yet. It’s not my expertise, and I most certainly have no desire to visit any other dimension if they exist.”

“Oh, okay, that’s unfortunate,” the ‘copter shuffled on his chair as though wanting to increase the distance between himself and Blast Off without getting up. “Because, you know, you kinda just did.” The tone was reassuring, even Blast Off could hear that, and he loathed it. And if that hadn’t been bad enough, the other added. “I’m Vortex.”

“No, you’re not,” Blast Off protested, even though he knew it was useless. Either whoever tinkered with his memory files would adapt to it, or – if this was real – there was no way to change the fact, considering that this mech _was_ just like Vortex, just… not completely.

“Yeah, well, that’s the thing. I am, and I’m not. But you’re also Blast Off, but not. Not to us at least. That’s what I meant with awkward.” The mech shrugged once again - apparently a habit of his - and glanced at the floor, avoiding Blast Off’s optics. “Your name _is_ Blast Off, right?”

The shuttle nodded without conscious intention.

“We can sense you, through the gestalt bond. You feel different than Blast Off, though.” There was a pause. “I mean our Blast Off.”

This was absurd.

“If you’re a wrong Vortex, where is my team?” Blast Off wanted to know. He ignored his low energy level as well as the cube on the floor.

Again the battle masked moved without the ‘copter saying anything. He suddenly sat up, however, and seemed distracted for a few astroseconds. Then he winced, and stood up.

“I gotta go. Uh…We’ll bring you to Megs later.” The wrong Vortex went to the energon bars, but stopped in front of them to turn back to Blast Off. “Hey Blast Off, nice to meet you.” The voice was odd, without any trace of sarcasm of fake that would the right Vortex incarnate. More words followed, though, and they sounded insecure. “Well… I guess.”

With that, he left.

The energon bars began glowing once more, and Blast Off was alone in the cell.

He rubbed his temple, and shook his head. It would be nice to wake up now, preferably in his own berth in the Combaticon HQ on Earth.

Sighing, the shuttle took the cube off the ground, and sipped.

Even the energon tasted different.


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:** gen, dark  
>  **Rating:** PG-13  
>  **Summary:** Blast Off meets Megatron, and they come to an agreement.  
>  **Beta:** **Note:** Last part of this fic. There’ll be more of the Disillusion AU soon. :3 Thank you all for reading. :D

Blast Off’s hands and feet were in cuffs. It was hard to walk like that, led through a hallway to wherever they were bringing him.

Like the white Vortex had said before, they had flown to what they called Main Base. Blast Off had sat inside the ‘copter's cargo hold, tense. He’d expected the mech to fly as erratically as the Vortex he knew, but it had been a surprisingly calm flight.

Now, the red Onslaught walked in front of him. The wrong Vortex and Brawl were to each his side, and the mech who sounded like Swindle was behind him.

Blast Off didn’t feel comfortable with this, considering the first words he'd heard from that mech, but he was in no position to complain. While they turned into another hallway, Blast Off tried to make sense of Vortex’ words again. But like the many times before, he didn’t reach any conclusion which wasn’t absurd.

The corridors were boring, and didn’t give anything away about where he could be, or what the purpose of this base was.

Venting air in building frustration, Blast Off came to a halt when the other stopped in front of a door.

“The conference room?” Swindle asked dubiously, causing Blast Off’s optics to twitch. “What, are we going to treat him like precious, fragile lab equipment now?”

Red Onslaught turned, voice very similar to the mech Blast Off knew. “Megatron’s orders. You do know the situation!” Then he went quiet, but obviously said more over a secure comm-line.

The shuttle was uncomfortable, and became confused at Onslaught’s next words.

“We’re not like Optimus. We don’t torture mechs.”

His purple optics behind Blast Off’s visor flickered, but he neither had time nor the intention to comment on that.

The room opened, revealing a flyer that smiled at them.

“Hello, we’ve expected you.” He stepped aside.

Blast Off frowned. It was a voice he was used to, but it wasn’t as annoying as the one he knew. It was all very disconcerting, and he would have liked to have woken up and found himself in the medbay of the Nemesis.

He was escorted to a seat opposite a mech that looked familiar, and still not quite. Like everyone. Red Onslaught didn’t sit down, and stood next to him; on the other side was Brawl. Blast Off couldn’t see where Vortex and Swindle were, but from somewhere he heard a weapon systems buzzing.

No removed Blast Off’s cuffs.

“What is this about?” he asked, when they just kept eyeing him up and he became impatient.

“Excuse the security measures and the caution around you,” the mech opposite Blast Off began. “But we don’t know with whom we are dealing.”

“That makes two of us. Who are you?” Blast Off grumbled, optics narrowing. He had a suspicion, but he wanted to hear it. This whole incident made him doubt his sanity.

The mech nodded. “Of course. My apologies. I’m Megatron.”

At that, Blast Off's loyalty program pinged, causing an unnerving twinge, and he tensed even more.

“I’m probably not like you expect me to be, and neither are any of the Decepticons. You’re not at home any more; this is a different dimension. Or universe. We aren’t quite sure about that.”

“I see,” Blast Off ground out when the loyalty code forced him to believe what Megatron was saying. It was frightening that it reacted even to a mech appearing so different. It was almost as bad as his gestalt program, which still told him his team was there, even though they weren’t. There were only strangers.

“We’ve had a visitor from your place before,” Megatron said. “And we learnt about some major differences back then. In this world, the Autobots are trying to conquer the universe. Their goal has already cost may Cybertronians their lives, and destroyed large regions of Cybertron. Optimus Prime is a tyrant. Just like the Megatron in your home world.”

At this Blast Off’s loyalty program reeled. He could neither protest against Megatron’s words, nor agree to them about Megatron being a tyrant. The shuttle’s optics flickered, and his vocaliser produced a low whine.

He didn’t see how Megatron appeared worried for a moment.

“You see we have to be careful with someone who works under a mech that equals our Optimus Prime.”

Megatron’s words caused an odd sickness, but at least the struggling loyalty program had stopped blocking his thoughts. Blast Off just nodded. There was nothing he knew to say.

“How did you arrive here?” The fake Megatron wanted to know, staring at the shuttle expectantly.

The cuffs rustled when Blast Off tensed even more. His joints began to ache. “I was on my way to Europa. Jupiter's moon. I just needed to gather information about its atmosphere and possible energy sources.” Blast Off’s hands clenched to fists, but there was no way of not answering the question. “I came across a portal. I had no chance to avoid it. It opened right in front of me. When I was on the other side, I was within Cybertron’s atmosphere. I lost control, and eventually crashed.”

Megatron nodded, and so did the flyer sitting next to him. “What happened then? I’ve heard you encountered Blades. Is that true?”

“I can’t say which mech it was.” Blast Off offlined his optics for three astroseconds in which he tried to calm the loyalty program, but he couldn’t fight it. He felt stupid being so submissive, and answering without seeming to question it.

“When I stood up, there was a heliformer. I didn't feel felt anything while crashing, but I probably ran him over.”

“He saved Brawl,” Onslaught interrupted, and Blast Off was glad for a moment. He saw the tank nodding, and Megatron seemed surprised. “We did lose contact with our Blast Off, though. We looked, but his presence through the gestalt link is dampened. There is however, _his_ presence…”

The flyer raised an optical ridge, and stared interested at the shuttle, and so did Megatron. Though, in the Decepticon leader’s face, there was also doubt.

“Your designation is Blast Off?”

“Yes, Sir,” the shuttle answered, adding sir without his conscious intent. Maybe it was easier just to give in to the program. Maybe it was a tactic to torture him like this, using the code against him, forcing him to talk and to surrender.

Blast Off didn’t notice Megatron frowning at his words.

“Tell me something about you,” Megatron said. “Where are you from. What are you doing in the Decepticon army?” He was almost friendly, but it didn’t help with the pressure in Blast Off's head.

“I was built in Altihex as a scientist and explorer for the Deep Space Research Facility. I’m now the right arm of the Combaticons’ combined form, Bruticus. As an individual, my tasks include reconnaissance, transporting troops, or shooting large targets from space. I hardly do the latter, however, because it endangers the Decepticons as well.” After the last words, Blast Off’s vocaliser whined, and his engine revved. He ground his denta together, and grimaced. He hated that he couldn’t keep quiet.

“You’re very cooperative,” Megatron responded, frowning once more. “I don’t know if I can believe everything you say. You answer too quickly, something an Autobot would never do.”

“Megatron?” Onslaught spoke up, but Blast Off interrupted before he could say more.

“Tsk. It’s not as though I can _lie_ to you,” the shuttle spat, his tone bitter. His optics were fixed at the Decepticon leader.

They were quiet for a moment.

Megatron broke the silence. “What do you mean?”

“You _know_ what I mean. The loyalty program? Don’t pretend you forgot!” It was hard to think that this mech didn’t know about the code; not when it still reacted to him.

Megatron and the flyer exchanged looks, then they glanced at Onslaught whom Blast Off saw shrugging in his peripheral vision.

“Would you mind to explain what the _loyalty program_ is?”

Blast Off tensed again. His shoulder joints creaked under the pressure, and he vented air deeply. “A code which ensures utter loyalty to Megatron without any chance of disobedience or questioning orders.”

Onslaught gasped, and the flyer’s optics widened. Megatron just kept sitting there, unmoving, but tense.

“It reacts to you. I can’t lie. Ask me whatever you want, it’ll force me to tell the truth. You want to try it?” The shuttle’s voice was daring, harsh from frustration.

“That’s horrible. You’re _forced_ to work for Megatron in your world?” the flyer asked, and with the terrified shriek in the tone, Blast Off realised it was truly Starscream’s voice.

It was a stupid question, which Blast Off could refuse to answer. Unlike the next, which was voiced by the Decepticon leader. “What did you do to deserve something like this?”

The tone made it obvious that it was a question more to himself but Blast Off answered, still. Unable not to.

“We tried to kill you. Twice.”

The room was silent again, except for a laugh that was Swindle’s.

\---

There’d been more talking.

It had been exhausting. Shocked comments, but also questions about more unpleasant things from Blast Off’s past.

He’d been able to avoid mentioning the Detention Center, or how he’d been freed from it. What price he and his team had had to pay.

Neither of these strangers had asked how Blast Off had become a part of a combiner, and he hadn’t been fond of telling.

These Combaticons had lost their shuttle. The Constructicons had tried to explain what happened, but Blast Off had been already too tired, too worn out, and too dizzy from the increasing pain from his side to understand.

Eventually, after too much time, and too many words. They all had agreed to something.

Blast Off would stay. He’d fight for the Decepticons, a war Blast Off didn’t know, and that was even less his war than the one he was fighting in his home world. But they’d offered to take a look at the loyalty program. They would erase it if they could.

It would be a reward for the time fighting; later, when Blast Off was able to go back home. Neither of them phrased it like this. And considering the nature which was so different from the mechs he knew, maybe they didn’t even think of it like that. But Blast Off did.

It was his reason to say yes to the slight re-builds he’d have to undergo, and the poking of gestalt programming to ensure trouble-free combining.

Once more, he lay on a berth.

Familiar but strange mechs talked around him, and his future team mates waited? behind the medbay door.

“Please relax,” someone said. It sounded like Hook, just friendly.

Then unconsciousness embraced him.


End file.
